Les Etoiles
by Errie Wyvern
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Christine isn’t in love with anyone.


Hey there, this is my first POTO fanfic, and I used elements from the book. AKA- Christine is blonde. I haven't finished reading it yet, since I just got my copy in the mail, sodon't spoil the real ending for me! I've seen the movie and automatically knew the book had to be a million times better. I've read Phantom by Susan Kay, so don't be surprised if you see some of her elements in here...somewhere. Be kind, this is short and I was blasted with a smack of inspiration. Please tell me if I've kept everyone properly in character! Why did I name this "The Stars"? No reason. I just like how it sounds.

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She sits on their bed and watches the sun come up over the glorious Paris skyline. The first red rays illuminate the roofs, then the pink and the gold outline the villagers and the opening stalls and make the puddles of water along the cobblestone streets shine and spark and tremble with the dawning of a new day. Maids picking out the freshest vegetables, dogs fighting over scraps, rats hiding for the day and cats stretched lazily on their master's window sills. 

The large windows with their clear glass and white frames and gauzy parted curtains make for a wonderful outlook on the new day. As the gradient sky slowly fades to blue, Christine looks up. She remembers the blue blue days with her father, walking along dusty roads and singing...

She blinks and shakes her head. Raoul rouses beside her, turning his head to noiselessly watch her blonde back as she contemplates the morning. He thinks there must be something deep going on, maybe she is reflecting upon the Phantom, maybe she is thinking of all the ways she is better off with him, maybe she is giving a silent report on her life so far to her fathers ghost.

But there is a blissful nothing inside Christine's head. It is empty and soundless, no echoes stirring and no thoughts rousing. She simply looks at the morning as she has looked at all mornings, objectively and she takes a picture of it in her head, to look at later when she is old and can no longer see the brilliant sunrises. Her eyes are fixated on the town, on the people with their bustling lives and their purposes.

Raoul makes a soft noise in his throat and Christine turns her head to look at him. For a moment, he in unable to distinguish between her eyes and the sky, wondering if maybe there are simply two holes that go through her head and show him the vast heavens.

He whispers, "I see Heaven in your eyes."

She turns her head back, her hair mimicking the still-rising sun with it's bright gold glint, "So did he."

Raoul grows uncomfortable and does not stay in bed much longer, because he is not quite sure who she is referring to.

Eventually, Christine rises and dresses, putting on a plain and unfashionable black gown. It buttons high at the throat but leaves a little diamond shaped plain of skin visible at her collarbone, it buttons low on the wrists and covers much of the back of her hand. The hem stops only an inch from the ground, and leaves her looking quite somber yet daring. She leaves her hair down but wears a large, wide-brimmed hat. With it's large black roses and long train of black lace, it's been out of fashion for two seasons already.

Looking every part the mourner, she dines with Raoul. He no longer cares to comment on her fashion, knowing he will not get an answer out of her. She gives him an empty smile and he takes her hand in his, noting the absence of a smooth gold band. At her request, the ruby in her engagement ring is replaced with a dark blue-black sapphire. She wears it every day, but on the wrong finger.

Raoul doesn't like to think about that, but it's always at the back of his mind, lurking.

He squeezes her hand one final time and gets ready to go to work. She assists him a little, carefully. She plays every part the dutiful wife, and Raoul notes that when she leaves the house to walk him to his carriage, she switches the ring to the correct finger. He tells her that he loves her and she does the same.

The Phantom is not mentioned in their relationship, and Raoul is beginning to think of bringing him up, just to see if he can get a reaction out of his beautiful, withdrawn wife. He doesn't know quite if that's the right way to go about this, but when he sees her take a separate carriage towards what he knows is her fathers grave, Raoul begins to understand, and he begins to freeze inside.

At her father's tomb, Christine pays the carriage man to wait for her, saying softly that she has enough money for an hour or even half a day. The carriage man has heard of this woman, and they have all begun to compete to see who can get to her house first. She usually spends upward of four hours a day at this morbid scene, and that means a good rest for a man and his horses. He takes out a basket of breakfast he has saved, and looks to see if his lunch is still there as well. Spreading down a blanket, he begins to dine while his horse nibbles on the patch of dandelions.

Inside, Christine gives respectful nods to the various graves, her hair bobbing in gentle curls and her lace train blowing in the wind. The earth is soft and loamy beneath her feet, and her low heels sink in every few steps. When she reaches her father's crypt, she sits on the steps and sings an aria or two, then lovingly rests her head against the pale marble of the door. The word DAAÉ proclaimed so boldly across the top comforts her a little, and she tells her father about the wonderful sunrise she saw, and she lets the sun warm her back through her hair and the hat shade her delicate skin.

She looks upon her father's grave fondly and tells him stories and amusing incidents that have happened, even if she's told them before, and she always starts laughing halfway through. She whispers things about the Angel of Music to her father, but nobody can really understand what she's saying because half of it is in her native tongue. Her sky-reflecting eyes hold no affection for anyone except for when they look upon her father's grave.

When she decides to leave, she steps up and bids her father a fond farewell, and leaves feeling quite empty inside. She has poured out her memories into the marble of her father, and she is as cold as it was that morning, because there was no response received. It really is a cruel and ugly stone.

The carriage man is dozing on his blanket, and Christine just stands for a minute, taking in the sky and the clouds and the way the sun filters through the leaves on the trees. She sees the brilliant veins in the green, and almost wants to get a dress that color, one that will show through her skin when the sun hits it and expose all her veins, and then she will be like the man that might have been a gift from her father. He claimed to be no Angel after awhile, but she still couldn't be quite so sure.

When the man opens his plain brown eyes, he sees her standing there, her eyes fixated on the foliage, and he sits up and folds his blanket. He hooks the horse back up and gives her a pleasant smile. "Thank you, mademoiselle that was a splendid rest." She smiles calmly. "Where to now?"

She thinks for a minute and responds with the address of a local flower shop, an upscale one specializing in hybrid roses and exotic flowers. She buys some Chinese Lanterns and ferns, saying she needs something to make her home brighter. In reality, the hollow orange flowers remind her of the sunrise that morning, and she will memorize their color to compare them to the sunset of that evening. If they do not wilt, perhaps she will hold them up to the window.

The Opera Populaire is ignored, neither turning from nor towards it. She just stares ahead like she has been, and it eventually melds away and merges with the other buildings as they turn a corner. She did not care to see what opera they were performing that time.

They come back to the Chagney estate, and she pays the man more than he needs and he thanks her splendidly. The man will buy his wife red roses and his children some good sweets.

She enters the house and takes off her hat. She changes into a slim white dress without a corset, and proceeds to wander around the house. Everything is taken in, examined. There is so much about this giant house that she does not know. She has covered the west wing when Raoul returns, and she embraces him as any wife would.

They dine on duck and carrots and apples, and upstairs they make love. Christine responds as any wife would, with a controlled amount of passion, and a controlled amount of it simulated. She does not remember this part for later.

Raoul holds her afterwards, almost crying. "You are hollow." He says.

"No I am not. I am filled with colors." She is becoming quite adept at turning words around.

"You don't love me." He is waiting, hoping, for his statement to be rebuked, knowing it will not be.

She looks at him. "Of course I do."

He tries again. "You are not in love with me."

She turns her face away.

He reaches, "You are in love with the Phantom."

She gives him an odd look and shakes her head. "I love you. I love the Phantom."

He thinks for a moment. "Are you in love?"

She responds negatively.

He looks deeply into her eyes, seeing the flecks of the stars and the calmness of the world. He searches her for something and she lets him inside, curious to see what he is looking for.

It remains undeclared.

Christine doesn't fall in love with anyone because her heart is still broken, and the pain is too fresh but the wound is too old to heal.

The next morning, Raoul rises at sunrise and leaves alone.

Christine fingers a red scarf and does not remember Raoul but her father. She holds it up to the sunrise and gives a joyous squeal. It matches perfectly in the shade over by the tallest house, and the one by the church spire.

She can't wait to tell that to her father.


End file.
